


technological distinctiveness (i was them but now i'm me)

by galactic_chiroptera



Series: detroit: become voyager (Star Trek AU) [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game), Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Trek Fusion, Borg Connor, Drabble, Gen, Pre-Delta Quadrant, Rated T for Hank's canon-typical vocabulary, all you need to know is hank is ex-federation for some reason, and is Trying To Help Him Regain His Humanity, and somehow came across Borg connor, do not tag as hankcon, listen i have a 4 page document with headcanons about this universe, will most likely be a series at some point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:08:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23987254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galactic_chiroptera/pseuds/galactic_chiroptera
Summary: "I can’t keep calling you Eight or “kid”, you sure you don’t remember your name?”Eight of Nine seems to consider that for a second, the green light of his exposed cortical implant blinking at his temple. For a second Hank almost thinks he’s made a breakthrough, until-“We are Borg,” Eight answers, earnest.Hank resists the urge to slam his head into the dashboard.Somewhere along the road, Hank picks up a Borg drone separated from the collective. Rehumanizing him proves... a little easier than he'd anticipated.
Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor
Series: detroit: become voyager (Star Trek AU) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1732150
Comments: 12
Kudos: 44





	technological distinctiveness (i was them but now i'm me)

**Author's Note:**

> hi, i'm not dead! i have no excuse for this, i was on a DBH kick and i got into voyager, and then i blacked out and when i woke up i'd written this. c'est la vie. enjoy! 
> 
> (second half of the title tweaked from jonathan coulton's Artificial Heart)

Outside their shuttle, one of Jupiter's smaller moons drifts lazily by, keeping them in orbit as they watch the small ion storm sweeping by Saturn.

Hank pinches the bridge of his nose, tilting his head back into the _Cutlass’_ s worn leather seat. “Alright, kid, I can’t- I can’t keep calling you Eight or “kid” or whatever, you _sure_ you don’t remember your name?”

Eight of Nine seems to consider that for a second, the green light of his exposed cortical implant blinking at his temple in the way he’s taken to mean the kid’s deep in thought and reflecting off the glass viewport. For a second he almost thinks he’s made a breakthrough, until-

“We are Borg,” Eight answers, almost endearingly earnest. 

Hank resists the urge to slam his head into the dashboard.

“Not your- god dammit, that’s not what I mean and you fuckin’ know it.” He smacks the button to engage the autopilot, and turns the pilot’s chair around to face Eight, who looks bewildered.

“The Collective has no use for individual names,” he begins, then frowns in confusion as Hank waves a hand.

“Okay, but- what did they call _you?”_ All that knowledge the Borg have, and somehow the concept of a name is this fucking foreign to them.  
  
Again, the blinking green light. Hank waits.

“My designation is Eight of Nine, Binary Adjunct of Unimatrix Zero-Two,” Eight offers, helpfully. 

It’s like talking to a fucking brick wall, Hank thinks, and briefly considers taking striking up a conversation with the replicator computer, if only for something resembling normal conversation. 

_Speaking of the replicator._ If only for something to do with his hands, he stands, making his way across the _Cutlass_ to the machine in question, indulging Sumo’s insistent _boof!_ with a pat on the head as he passes. He gruffly requests his usual, and Eight is silent as the soda- paper cup, plastic straw, classic diner aesthetic, because fuck everything, he needs his creature comforts in space- is replicated. 

Hank’s back in his seat, about to engage the manual control again, by the time Eight speaks again.

“I believe… I had a name. Before I was assimilated.” 

He pauses, then turns in his chair again, watching the only other occupant of the cockpit.

The kid looks like his brain is doing mental gymnastics, his brow furrowed in concentration and green light blinking rapidly. _“We_ are Borg,” he repeats, frustrated. 

Sensing it’s best not to interrupt his line of thought, Hank remains silent. This could be it, he thinks, or it could be another false alarm-

“I am-” Eight cuts off. Takes a deep breath. Steadies himself. 

“I am… Connor. Connor Arkait. That was my name, before I was assimilated.” 

The light stops blinking, easing into a steady, solid glow. The deep knit of his eyebrows eases, like some sort of pain has been released from his body. Hank- 

Hank just stares. He hadn’t expected to actually get anywhere with this, when he’d asked- had expected to have to offer some stupid nickname, and move on with it until they could find somewhere to put the kid. He realizes, belatedly, that he hasn’t spoken yet, and Eight- no, Connor- is staring at him expectantly.

“Uh,” he says, intelligently. “That’s great.” _Stupid. Say something._ “Nice to meet you, Connor.” _Better._

It does the trick. Eight- _Connor,_ dammit- beams in a way Hank hasn’t seen him do in the entire time they’ve been on the run. For a moment, it’s almost easy to forget he’d been Borg, part of the hivemind, looking as pleased as a new cadet being praised by his instructor for the first time, as wondrous as an ensign seeing their first nebula from the bridge.

 _“My name is Connor,”_ he repeats.

**Author's Note:**

> i've seen a lot of Vulcan Connor and Nines in star trek AUs but yall really sleepin on borg boys over here


End file.
